


Treason

by Mistflyer1102



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Healing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-10 22:52:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5603989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistflyer1102/pseuds/Mistflyer1102
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first, Bond believes history is repeating itself.</p><p>Or is it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Kill both the mark and his two informants, show no mercy._

Q’s soft-spoken words remained in Bond’s mind as the agent sipped his usual vodka martini, using the vantage point of his box to study the guests at the Bregenz Open Air Theatre in Austria, guests still filing in close to the end of the performance’s intermission. A shuffle of fabric, and he turned in time for Eve Moneypenny to calmly sit down beside him, arranging her skirts before resting a hand on his in a show of intimacy, one that they had carefully calculated to fool the mark and any of his agents that may have been watching Bond since the agent’s arrival. “I’m surprised the staff here let you in, given what happened _last_ time you visited,” Eve said after a moment, arching a brow when Bond gave her a wounded expression.

“That, the staff just simply changed rotation, or their memories are as bad as Tanner’s,” Bond said, mouth twitching as he heard R’s faint cough on the other end of the earpiece. “R, before the performance starts again, any word from Q?” he asked quietly, trying to calm the flare of concern in his gut— _I should be there, helping him, if he’s as bad off as R and O’Reilly report._ He consciously folded both of his hands flat against his knees, resisting against the urge to ease his worry over Q’s condition. Eve seemed to sense his dilemma, squeezing his left hand once before leaving her hand there, her skin warm against his finger where the ring should have been.

“ _Sorry, double-oh seven. He’s still out with the stomach bug, O’Reilly went to go check on him this morning and said that Q is hanging in there and that the illness should pass. But he’s sicker than a dog right now._ ” A sigh. “ _Perhaps you can Skype with him later, he definitely has his tech, so you can do that,”_ R said, stifling a yawn. “ _Has the mark appeared yet?”_

“No, but intermission is about to end, so give him another few more minutes,” Bond muttered, clearing his throat in a warning for silence before taking another sip of his martini. R grumbled on his end, but fell obediently silent as Eve inclined her head once to acknowledge thediscreet warning.

Bond scanned the audience below, finally spotting Ryan Westbrook, a confirmed Quantum informant, milling about in the aisle near a row that still had five seats available even as other guests began filling up around them. Westbrook straightened, and Mr. White appeared a moment later— _halfway late for the performance, what kept him?_ —and waved off an attendant as he moved to take his seat, moving down the row until he reached the second of the five empty spots. Bond checked to make sure that his Walther was fully loaded, safety on, before pretending to knock over his glass, pitching it forward and nearly over the edge of the box. Eve jumped and a few people below shrieked as the alcohol splashed them.

“ _Shit_ , sorry about that, my dear,” he said loud enough for their neighbors to hear, allowing her to fuss and scold him as he pulled a handkerchief out and handed it to Eve. He leaned forward, pretending to straighten the glass and use a small napkin on the box edge as he studied White. The man remained standing, half bowing over a woman’s hand before gesturing that she sit on the fourth seat, leaving one empty between the two of them. Another woman took the fifth seat, and both sat down as White turned partway towards the back of the theatre with a furrowed brow. Westbrook, however, remained in the aisle, 

“He’s waiting for someone, the second informant if I had to guess,” Bond said, sitting down again as Eve tucked the handkerchief back into his jacket pocket. “We’ll need to use facial identification on the women, I haven’t seen either of them before,” he murmured to her, stuffing the soaked napkin in his trouser pocket before leaving his glass on the edge of the box again.

“I’ll get the pictures, you’ve already caused a bit of a stir by dumping your drink on those poor, innocent guests below us,” Eve said, standing up as though to fluff her dress out before pulling her shawl closer and pin the edges together. Bond leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes as he tightened his fingers against his kneecap— _I have to be careful, one mistake and it will take even longer to finish this old vendetta with Quantum and then return home to Q._

“Holy _shit_.” 

Bond turned sharply to look at Eve, whose eyes had widened as she stared at something below in the main auditorium, shawl dangling loosely in her fingers. Not caring about maintaining covers, he leaned forward as well, snatching his martini glass in an attempt to create a backup excuse for anyone who pressed the matter. 

_Fucking…_

Q stood in the aisle next to Westbrook, dressed impeccably in a dark navy suit that Bond remembered him purchasing for the date that would inevitably end with Bond’s marriage proposal. His color still seemed paler than Bond remembered— _he fell ill a day after Eve and I left London_ —but he was nodding in response to something Westbrook was saying, Westbrook’s body turned so that Bond couldn’t see his mouth. Even if Bond hadn’t been staring at the Quartermaster’s profile, he would have recognized the mop of hair anywhere. He was vaguely aware of Eve tugging on his arm, his heart sinking in a numb horror, anger, _hurt_ as he watched Q look away to reach into a pocket only to stop when Westbrook caught his arm. A few whispered words, and Q frowned and said something as he tried to tug free, only to give up when Westbrook’s grip tightened on his wrist. A moment’s hesitation, and he followed Westbrook down the row of seats, his face pinching briefly before he shook hands with White. He then sat down on White’s other side, turning briefly with a frown as his female neighbor tapped his shoulder, but didn’t say anything as he turned to face forward again, shoulders squared and spine straight.

_No, no, no, not like Vesper. Not this, no, not him. Please not him._ _Why, Alex. Why would you do this, especially when you fucking knew about her?_

“James!”

He turned to find Eve studying him with a frown as the lights began to dim. “James, it’s all right, there’s got to be an explanation, there has to be,” she whispered, voice breaking with a disbelief that he felt deep in his bones. “There _has_ to be.”

Bond didn’t reply, momentarily too shocked to process anything. He bowed his head, closing his eyes as he briefly fought to regain his breathing and heart rate. Without another word, he reached up and pulled his earpiece out, hoping that R hadn’t heard Eve. _God, are he and O’Reilly in on the gig as well, to cover up Q’s absence as an ‘illness’?_ He barely heard the minuscule _crunch_ as he folded his fist over the earpiece, destroying the tech as he struggled to bring his temper back under control: Q, after all, had ordered him to kill White and the two informants, whomever they may be, and Bond would be damned if he left a mission unfinished.

_I’ll get his confession before I kill him._

Bond settled back in his seat, watching the curtain began to rise for the second act. He feel the hurt easing as the resolve firmed in his chest, silently vowing that Q would be the last one he ever let get close to him ever again.


	2. Chapter 2

“Well, that was a lovely performance.”

“Mm.” Bond ignored Eve’s remark as he calmly dialed the unlisted number on his mobile— _meant for emergencies only_ —before tucking the mobile between his shoulder and ear. “Do not tell R or anyone else about what we just saw,” he said over his shoulder as they entered the stairwell that would lead to the veranda overlooking the city of Bregenz. “Parameters have changed, and we don’t know how else MI6 may be compromised,” he said, listening the muted ring on the other end while checking the nearby crowds. “And don’t let White, Westbrook or Winfield spot you, we’ll have to proceed as though White is now aware of our approach, and come up with a new strategy,” he added, glancing over his shoulder in time to see Eve checking her own firearm.

“Any interrogations?” Eve asked in a low voice as she joined him at the bottom of the stairs, casually looping her arm through his as he moved to stand near the glass windows, leaning back against the glass to get an expansive view of the several exits that audience members were using, blue eyes studying the thick crowds. “Q will be trained, able to resist,” she said finally, glancing at him pointedly. Bond didn’t immediately reply— _I know Eve, I know I was the one to train him. I’ll have to use more force, then, than I was ever comfortable using on him. And his confession is the one I want the most._

_Beep!_

“R, finally,” he said, keeping his voice low as he gestured for Eve to keep an eye of the group to his left before turning his attention to the right. 

_“What the hell happened to your earpiece?”_

“Accidentally dropped it and someone stepped on it. Are you ready to get down to work? I need information on White and his two informants,” he asked, biting back a flash of impatience when he heard R stifle a yawn followed by the faint clacking of computer keys. Bond’s heart twisted at the familiar sound— _Q stayed up late to work sometimes, I’d go to sleep hearing those keys…God, was he committing treason even then?_ Pushing the hurt and anger back down— _I need to focus_ —he said, in as steady of a voice as he could manage in that moment, “I need the hotel name and room numbers of Jesper White and his two informants, Ryan Westbrook and Alexander Winfield. Westbrook is American and Winfield is English.”

Silence, broken with more clicking keys. Then: “ _All three are registered to the Hotel Bayerischer Hof…Christ, someone dropped a nice penny for this place. It’s in Lindau, Germany, just over the Austrian-German border where you are now, so about twenty minutes tops by car. All are on the fourth storey, Westbrook and Winfield are on either side of White in their own rooms,”_ R said as he typed something into his computer. “ _I can’t get you a room across from one of theirs, but there is an empty double at the end of the hall. Would you like that?”_

“Please.” Bond glanced at Eve, who shook her head. _No sign of him yet_. “R, do you know anything about Winfield? I’m not entirely sure of how to approach him as a threat,” he casually remarked, watching as the crowd began to slowly thin out, brow furrowing as he wondered if he’d perhaps missed Q, distracted with getting information from R.

_“Well, all I can find on Alexander Winfield is that he works in Calais, in IT consulting. Sounds boring.”_

_And Q’s cover identity, which I already knew, but apparently R doesn’t._ “Thank you, R. Get us the room and I’ll be in touch later once the mission objective is achieved.” He hesitated, almost forgoing the question since he knew exactly what Q was doing now, but decided to ask, just in case R was reporting his behavior back to Q so that the two of them could continue coordinating their little charade. _I don’t know how deep Q’s duplicity runs_. “Any word from Q?” he asked, ignoring Eve’s surprised look until she gently tugged on his sleeve, pointing to something on his right.

_“No, he’s been quiet all day. I wouldn’t worry, double-oh seven, he did take busy work home. You can call him tonight,”_ R replied cheerfully.

_He’s been busy all right._ “Thank you, R. I’ll probably talk to him tonight,” Bond said, barely managing to keep the suppressed anger out of his voice as he spotted Q leaving the auditorium with Westbrook at his side, talking about something Bond couldn’t quite decipher from the distance he stood at. A hand came up to reflexively adjust his glasses— _he always did that when nervous—_ and Bond inhaled sharply when he realized that Q’s own left ring finger was bare as well, taking away any unconscious hope that he’d been staring at nothing but an elaborate charade. He closed his eyes, briefly tuning R out as he unwittingly recalled Q on their last night before Bond left. The soft smile, the edge of unspoken worry and concern in his hazel eyes, and the slight edge of determination as they both pretended that Bond was definitely returning home.

Bond coughed slightly, to cover the tightening grief around his heart as he wordlessly handed the mobile to Eve. “I’ll be right back, just get all the information we need to finish our work tonight,” he said, glancing back in time to see Q turn to Westbrook, brow furrowed slightly as he said something that displeased the American; Westbrook squared his shoulders, attempting to loom over Q in a show of size, but Q’s jaw flexed with what Bond recognized as restrained anger— _how many times have the double-ohs tried to bully him into doing something by doing just that?_ Q then took a step away from Westbrook before heading into the men’s loo, leavinga scowling Westbrook to casually hover around the entrance. Biting back a flash of impatience, Bond waited until Westbrook had his back to him, and then carefully slipped into the room.

He found Q almost right away; the younger man was hunched over a sink, head bowed and shoulders shaking as though he was trying to catch his breath again. With the suit jacket lying in a heap on the counter beside Q, Bond could see the tension in Q’s shoulders and arms as the man slowed his own breathing down. Without thinking, he started to reach for Q’s shoulder.

_He’s here for White. For Quantum._

Gritting his teeth, he retracted his hand, for once left unsure of how to start with the conversation. “What the _fuck_ are you doing here?” he asked, not caring how blunt the question was; _it’s as much of a last chance I can give you, please prove me wrong, Q._

Bond didn’t yell; venting his anger would do nothing except attract unwanted attention, especially from Westbrook. Q flinched as though Bond had struck him instead, fingers slipping on the counter as he turned sharply to face Bond, visibly paling further when he located Bond in the dark and leaning against the opposite side of the tiled room. “Working,” Q said after a moment, voice shaking only slightly, a tremor that Bond had not heard since they had married and had their lives together in front of them _._ “What are you doing here?” he asked after a few moments of silence, carefully studying Bond.

Bond gave a thin smile before taking a step forward, Q flattening against the counter in response. “Working,” he mimicked in a soft voice. “‘Kill both the mark and his two informants’, remember?” he said coldly, jaw flexing as he caught the moment, the flicker of acknowledgement in those once-warm hazel eyes when Q remembered his own orders. “I thought you were _sick_ for the last fucking _week_ ,” he growled, suddenly aware of the weight of the Walther in his shoulder holster. _It would be quick, and Westbrook is the only immediate threat I’d have to worry about._ “I worried about you, you know that?” he snapped, controlling his breathing as best he could to keep his temper in check. “ _I trusted you!_ ”

Q flinched, jaw tensing as he folded his arms across his chest, a tremor running through his body. His eyes strayed to the side, over Bond’s shoulder, and the agent turned to find that Westbrook, who still had his back to them, had moved closer to the entrance and was shifting from foot to foot with his head slightly cocked in their direction. “Welcome to espionage, Bond. Honestly, I didn’t think you would fully trust me either, given your experience with Vesper,” Q said finally, wringing his hands as his jaw tensed in a visible effort to resist clenching his teeth. Hunching his shoulders forward as he bowed his head, he said in a barely-audible voice, “I wouldn’t worry about the mission parameters if I were you, I fully expect you to carry your orders out.”

“And will do so with extreme prejudice,” Bond warned. “Same goes for any of your cohorts back in London.”

“There weren’t any others, I am acting independently. It’s surprisingly easy to fake illness, I used to do it as a child, when I didn’t want to go to school.” Q’s voice was faint now, and Bond watched as he reached with shaking hands towards the counter, as though to keep himself from collapsing to the floor altogether. 

Bond remained silent for a moment, struggling to bring his anger, hurt and burning grief back under control as he leaned against the wall for some support of his own. “I hate you for this,” he said finally, voice cold yet steady. “I hate that you _knew_ what I was going to do, that you were sending me to kill you. I hate that you chose to defect to Quantum, only because you knew what it would do to me.” Anger bubbled in his chest when Q refused to look at him, instead staring resolutely at the tiled floor, but Bond managed to push it back down again, effortlessly this time. “Goodbye, Alexander,” he said when Q didn’t respond, and then turned on his heel, easily lowering a shoulder to avoid knocking into Westbrook by accident.

Instead of approaching Eve, he tilted his head discreetly towards the main doors when he caught her eye, only turning forward when he received her nod of acknowledgement and began walking towards the exit, heading for the car. He checked his watch, and then continued walking as though unaffected by the entire conversation— _he’s nothing to me anymore._

_With any luck, we’ll be done with the mission tonight and heading to London tomorrow._


	3. Chapter 3

_Shouldn’t have brought a coat, it’s too bulky to move quickly and quietly._

Bond slowly exhaled as he readjusted the long-range sniper’s rifle, training the sights on the end of the hotel pool closest to him. He could hear very faint splashing from his perch on the adjoining building that connected the main hotel, where the rooftop was closer to the pool. As White leisurely swam from one end to the other— _according to reports, the water helps him relax before bed_ —Q, unreadable ever since their confrontation in the Bregenz Open Air Theatre, remained curled up on a wicker pool lounge chair underneath one of the numerous lamp posts on the opposite side from Bond, brow furrowed with the paperback book close up to his face— _he’s still upset then, most likely because of our final meeting._

_Not my problem._

Bond ignored the twinge of guilt in his chest as he lined up the shot, hand resting on the trigger guard as he checked his mobile again. Eve was keeping track of Westbrook, whom Bond hadn’t seen since arriving to the Hotel Bayerischer Hof some two hours ago. Her last text had been forty-five minutes ago, when Westbrook had wandered to the bar for drinks, leaving both Bond and Eve to assume that he was planning to get drunk for the night now that his shift was over for the day. He frowned when he saw her unopened message, sent fifteen minutes ago.

_‘Still at the bar, he’s getting some looks from the barkeeper.’_

Setting the mobile aside, Bond leaned forward and lined up the rifle again, silently counting the seconds as he watched White perform two more laps across the pool. Still counting under his breath and using the splashes as his cue to start the count over again.

A flicker of movement from the corner of his eye, and he looked up from the scope to see that Q had moved, sitting straight in the chair now with the book on his lap. He was wearing the painfully familiar checkered trouser and yellow cardigan outfit now, and Bond sharply exhaled, folding forward slightly as he felt the invisible punch to the gut. _No, not now. Wait until the mission is complete._ He flexed his hand on the sniper rifle trigger guard, to remind himself that he only had to wait a few more hours before going after Q.

Closing his eyes for a few moments to reclaim his focus, he started to lean forward again to line the shot up for a second time when Q suddenly looked up at him through the scope, brow arching for a moment. Bond didn’t dare move, heart loud in his ears as he remained absolutely still and watched as Q glanced back at White, who had reached the end of the pool closest to him. As soon as Quantum’s leader turned back to swim back down the length of the pool, Q very carefully looked back up at him and folded his middle three fingers down before holding his hand to his ear, as though speaking on a mobile. Then he picked up his book again, laying it open on his lap as he watched White again, who swam back to his end.

Bond almost ignored Q, instead returning to the sniper rifle scope as he tried to get back into the rhythm of counting. He swallowed, sensing the pull to look down at his mobile. “Fuck you, Q,” he growled under his breath a moment later, leaning back from the sniper rifle when he heard the faint _bzzzz_ and felt the vibration of an incoming text message. “Just…fuck you for making this harder than it actually has to be,” he muttered as he pulled his mobile out of his pocket again, finger pausing on the lock screen when he saw that the newest message came from an unfamiliar number, and had a _‘Read More’_ for the preview image.

_What the hell are you up to now, Q?_

He was about to just delete the message, swiping the lock screen and poised his finger over the message, prepared to delete it altogether when he caught sight of the message itself:

_Westbrook is coming to kill you._

Bond wordlessly looked up at Q again, this time without the aid of the rifle scope. Q wasn’t looking at him anymore, instead leaning forward to listen to White, who was talking and gesturing with one hand as he held onto the pool edge. For a moment, Bond stared at the two of them, feeling blindsided for the second time that night. _Why would he warn me about Westbrook—did he even send that message? How else would he know to tell me to check my mobile? What the hell is going—_

_Scree—_

Bond instantly lunged for the side the moment Westbrook opened fire from the stairwell that led back down to the hotel. Bullets peppered Bond’s wake as the agent finally rolled to his feet and regained his balance, pulling out his Walther in the five seconds that Westbrook kicked the roof door behind him with a foot and fired several times at the sniper rifle, pitching the entire weapon over the edge. Bond barely heard the _crash_ as the weaponry landed somewhere below, instead ducking as Westbrook threw an empty pistol at him before pulling out a second and firing a few more times. Bond fired twice, silently impressed as Westbrook artfully dropped yet sprang to his feet as second later. _Like I needed another reminder of my own age._

With a grunt, Bond dove to the left as Westbrook charged towards him, hands stretching as though to shove him off the roof. He moved into a somersault and used the momentum to jump back to his feet, turning in time to see Westbrook redirect his own energy to avoid losing his balance on the roof. Bond raised his Walther right as Westbrook pointed his second gun towards Bond, the Double-O’s back to the open air over the pool. “Let me guess, White sent you?” Bond asked after a moment, raising a brow when Westbrook shrugged with one shoulder.

“White’s been training me for _nine years_ in order to kill you,” Westbrook said, smirking as he began to confidently walk forward, forcing Bond back towards the edge of the roof. “The Winfield kid only sealed the deal when he approached White claiming that you had killed his lover, and that he wanted revenge.” He rolled his eyes, only stopping when Bond immediately lowered his Walther in order to regain and maintain his balance after nearly stepping off the roof. 

“Tell me something new,” Bond muttered under his breath; _I thought I knew Q, who knows if he lied about his past in addition to his loyalties._

“Although, after the way the two of you shredded each other back at the opera house, I’m starting to suspect there’s a rat in the operation…because you said you were worried about him. And he didn’t want to talk about you later.” Westbrook frowned, and then said, “Not to mention that he conveniently approached White literally days before you showed up to the Bregenz Open Air Theatre, but _after_ White began the final stages of preparing your death…”

“Winfield is dead to me.” Bond’s voice was firm and cold.

Westbrook shrugged with one shoulder. “Then you won’t mind that I’ll kill him after I’m done with you. Nice and slow, perhaps a fatal stomach injury, something to just make him _scream_ for _hours—”_

Bond didn’t remember lunging for Westbrook, just a flash of red hot pain as Westbrook fired and the bullet caught Bond’s shoulder. His fingers reached Westbrook’s throat a moment later, sending the two of them crashing to the rooftop. Westbrook snarled a moment later, using his body to twist the two of them over so that he was on top. Bond grunted when Westbrook placed a knee in Bond’s groin and jammed the edge of a hand into Bond’s throat, but felt his heart stop for a horrible second when Westbrook calmly pressed the muzzle of the gun to Bond’s forehead with the free hand.

_Bang!_

Bond grunted when Westbrook sagged on top of him, the gun falling harmlessly to the side even as Bond moved his head out of the muzzle’s range. He looked past Westbrook’s shoulder in time to see the roof access door slam closed and he barely heard the _click_ of the locks sliding into place. He sighed when he heard the faint _clang_ of a pipe being shoved through the door handles, but paused when he saw a third gun _—Walther PPK with Q’s handprint recognition tech_ —lying on the rooftop near the door, a thin trail of smoke still coming from the muzzle as the three red lights blinked red. Bond shoved Westbrook’s body off of himself and forced himself to stand up, stumbling slightly when his shoulder spasmed in pain. 

Very calmly, he picked up first his Walther, then the discarded Walther, before looking around the rooftop for his mobile. If he was locked out, he would need to ask Eve to bail him out. A quick check over the pool showed him that White and Q had disappeared at some point in the gunfight— _White was the bait. And Q knew somehow. Yet, only Eve and Q-Branch have access to my number._

_One down, one to go for sure…and I don’t know about the last._


	4. Chapter 4

_“James, both Q and White are leaving the hotel!”_

“Working on it, working on it. Eve, meet me down there and cut them off if you can,” Bond muttered into his microphone as he impatiently pressed the button for the ground floor, still mildly annoyed that he’d pressed the storey floor first, in hopes of cutting the two of them off before they could escape until Eve called. He’d placed the second Walther in his shoulder holster, as it had more bullets than his issued one, and he’d rather save more for later. He still couldn’t shake the memory, though, of the three steady green lights that had responded to his grip. _Coded to my palm print…Q’s work. But that doesn’t answer the how, or the why._ Inhaling sharply, Bond leaned forward to the button panel as the lift came to a stop on his level, the doors sliding noiselessly open a moment later.

“Some arse reprogrammed the door to remain locked, but I heard White saying that they were going to leave Lindau by boat, and the only place I could think of that didn’t involve a car would be through Bodensee,” Eve said, smacking Bond’s hand away from the panel before pressing the button for the ground floor. “James…” she turned to him, frowning. “Something’s wrong. Both Q and White had returned to their respective rooms, but Q left his, and returned less than ten minutes later. Then he and White argue out in the hall, and there was a scuffle, but when I tried to open the damn door, it was fucking _locked_ ,” she said, scowling as she glanced at the digital readout of the levels.

“Q must have locked it…he and White had been in the pool when I was going to snipe White. They disappeared when Westbrook arrived to try and kill _me_ ,” Bond said, frowning as he reconsidered Westbrook’s words moment before the assassin tried to kill him. “I think Q may have warned me, that Westbrook was trying to kill me,” he said quietly, holding the mobile out for Eve to examine. “Westbrook also said that Q had approached White _after_ White started to plan my death,” he said after a moment, watching Eve’s brow furrow in confusion. “Not only that, Q left me another, almost fully loaded Walther.”

“That’s odd…why help us if we could merely convict him of treason?” Eve asked, glancing up at Bond.

“Because he either wants to play the sympathy card…or there’s something he didn’t tell either of us,” Bond said, trying to think back to the briefing. Q had been calm when delivering the mission— _I discovered White’s networks a few weeks ago, and learned that he was going to be in Austria soon for a Mozart performance. I thought it would be beneficial to strike while he’sfinally out in the open_ —calm to the point where the speech seemed rehearsed and mechanical, as though extremely reluctant to report it at the time. _M…M had made him nervous that time, Q kept glancing at him throughout the speech._

Bond had shrugged it off at the time, attributing it to Q’s nerves about Bond’s emotional state regarding the mission. Guilt clawed its way into his gut as he re-examined his past few encounters with Q over the last couple of hours, trying to remove the filter of anger… _someone from Quantum had always been present._ Shaking his head, he said, “Something’s not right, we need to get Q back alive. Forget what I said earlier.”

“Of course.” Eve didn’t bother hiding her little smile.

Bond could see the waters of the Bodensee even as he and Eve took the boardwalk from the rear of the hotel towards the docks reserved for guests and incoming travelers going to the hotel. He could see numerous lamps lighting the way to the docks, and he slowly started to jog when he heard the familiar _rurrrm_ of a starting boat engine. _He could go back to Austria, go elsewhere in Germany, or God knows where if he escapes._ _I may not get another shot at this, he’ll disappear for who knows how long …_

_Had Q intended to bring him out in the open so that we could get a clear shot at him?_

He paused when he reached the entrance of the docks, carefully navigating the path as to remain in the dark through walking around the pools of lamplight. He scanned the numerous small boats and luxury yachts tethered in place, Eve’s footsteps barely audible behind him. A flicker of movement, and he spotted White on a smaller speedboat, leaning down as he worked on a few knots on one of the posts. Bond frowned, and paused, angling himself to look behind White for any sign of Q. He only came to a complete stop when he saw that Q had his hands, which were resting in his lap, handcuffed together and chained to the bottom of the speedboat, forcing him to bow slightly as White continued working.

Q glanced up in that moment, and made eye contact with Bond. He tugged slightly on his bonds with a slight shrug of his shoulders before going back to White. Bond could see that White was speaking, but couldn’t quite hear him. Q remained impassive, only glancing back at Bond once more. He gestured discreetly with his head towards White, eyes widening when he realized that Bond hadn’t taken the shot. “ _You have an open shot,_ ” he mouthed carefully, glancing back at White as though to make sure he wasn’t looking.

Bond understood in that moment.

He fired the Walther without further hesitation.

White ducked just in time, the bullet hitting the side of the speedboat and causing it to rock precariously in place. Snarling, Bond fired several more times, taking care to hit the chain holding Q down when White ducked behind a stack of crates. _“Go!_ ” he shouted, running again as Q stood up only to crouch again, the boat rocking from the sharp movements.

“I can’t, I’m still chained!” Q shouted, tugging a foot for emphasis as White emerged from the crates, holding a rifle that he fired several times. Q reflexively ducked as White fired, forcing Bond and Eve to split and fire back on two fronts. 

White kept firing at Bond, remaining behind the crates to avoid Eve’s bullets. Bond could see Q struggling before he finally bent over and disappeared from sight. White abruptly switched targets, Eve letting out a surprised shriek as a wooden post near her exploded into splinters when the bullet made contact with it. Bond glanced at her long enough to ascertain that she wasn’t injured, and then charged down the docks, heading for the small boardwalk that connected the two main docks that both he and White stood on. Gunfire followed in his wake, and he was finally forced to duck behind a luxury yacht for cover, wincing as he heard dull thuds.

He only stood up again when he heard scuffling sounds instead of gunfire, looking across to see that Q had finally broken free from two of his three restraints, the handcuffs visible as he kept the chain tight against White’s throat and a knee in White’s lower back. Then he glanced up to see Bond, and offered a tired smile while carefully maintaining his balance. “ _You’re free now,”_ he mouthed as the two of them staggered backwards towards the end of the pier, Bond’s blood running cold when he heard the familiar sounds of water lapping against the wood. Q glanced behind him once more, frowned, and then retreated with a struggling White, sparing only a few seconds to look back at Bond and mouth, “ _I love you, I’m so sorry.”_

At first, Bond didn’t think, he just _ran_ across the water-soaked wood, growling in frustration as he watched Q pull White back, the two of them teetering on the edge of the docks as Q tilted, glancing back as though to gauge the distance between him and the water. Bond nearly vomited when White suddenly looked up to see him, and grinned nastily. Then the former leader of Quantum jerked his body, twisting it and throwing Q off-balance for those few critical seconds. Q snatched victory from him a moment later, twisting his body so that he could shove White backwards into the dark waters below, the splashing echoing across the partially empty docks after both men tumbled from sight.

_Oh God, no. Not like Vesper. God no, please no._

_“Alex!”_ His voice echoed as he continued running, not thinking as he swiftly dove into the water, his heart sinking as he frantically swam down, hands grasping at cold water as he opened his eyes to more darkness. Anger bubbled up through his chest as despair clawed at his heart, and he kept swimming down, only emerging from the waters with a wordless scream as hefinally started to run out of air.

_Q will try to drown him…damn you, Alex, just damn you for not telling me, for not letting me help you. Just…_

He was only vaguely aware of Eve pulling him out of the water and onto the dock, wordless snarls coming from his mouth as he collapsed on the wood. Guilt, anger, and grief burned in his chest as water burned his throat and eyes, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath between sobs and coughing up water. Pulling his shoulder free, he turned around to lean over the edge of the dock, slowing his breathing down as he searched the water. _I’ll wait. I’ll wait for him to surface._

It was nearly sunrise before Eve finally pulled him away from the edge of the pier, alone.


	5. Chapter 5

When he saw Eve enter the hotel room later that evening, Bond quietly went back to his mobile.

“They found White’s body. Someone handcuffed it to the pier and there are strangulation marks across his neck,” Eve said, setting the newspaper down on the small bedside table between the two beds in the hotel room. She hesitated, and then sat down on the bedspread, watching Bond. He only held her gaze for another few seconds before turning his attention back to his mobile, where he’d been scrolling through his last few text exchanges with Q. “There’s…there’s no sign of a second body, nor are there any clues that suggest he either lived or died,” she said after a moment, Bond shrugging with one shoulder a moment later.

“Well, I’m going down the hall to see if he left any personal effects behind in the room,” he said, standing up and tucking the mobile back into his pocket. “I’ll think of something to tell M…don’t worry about it,” he said as he walked towards the door.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly caused you to change your mind? You spared Q even though earlier last night, you were bent on killing him because of his association with White,” Eve said, frowning as she followed him out of the room and to the left, down the hall to where Bond remembered Q’s room to be. “Do you think Q was with White of his own free will?” she asked quietly as he started to reach for Q’s hotel room door. 

The question made him stop, the guilt curling further in his gut as he leaned back on a foot, reconsidering the memory of Q chained to the speedboat while White prepared to leave. _I’ve been married to him for two years, dated him for three, and still fucking missed the visual cues that I should have noticed sooner…why?_ “Honestly, I’d like to think he wasn’t, but I suppose we’ll never find out now,” he said quietly before taking a step back and promptly shooting the door’s lock, causing Eve to jump in surprise. “Keep your gun out, you never know if there were any other Quantum lackeys that White kept around,” he said, flattening himself against the wall to the side before kicking the door open. Eve ducked to the side as well, pulling her own Walther out, and for a moment, he remained still, carefully listening for any noise inside of the room.

Silence.

Carefully, Bond moved around the edge of the frame and slipped into the room, noting that the curtains were still drawn, leaving the room dark despite the morning light seeping through the cracks between and below the curtains. Bond’s heart twisted when he spotted the small duffel bag sitting on the armchair next to the window—Q hadn’t anticipated staying long, especially since he hadn’t even brought a laptop—and a familiar tablet sitting on top of the side table, propped up on a customized stand. Bond leaned forward, pressing the button to wake the device up. His breath caught when he saw that not only was the tablet unlocked, but Q had left it on one his photo-sharing apps, this one cycling through numerous photographs of the two of them. _Even before we married_ , Bond noted, recognizing a few surveillance images of Bond on missions— _Is it all right if I save these few, for when you’re gone and I need a pick-me-up?_ —and a few candid snapshots from over the last three years.

_Q relied on these to get through the lonely times._

Then he looked down, spotting the papers through the duffel zipper.

Wordlessly, he opened the bag further, pulling the printed papers out, exhaling slowly when he found that they were part of a larger folder. His stomach twisted, and then plummeted when he opened the folder and started to scan through the papers within it.

The first two sheets had come from an official record… _his_ record, namely the mission details regarding Quantum and Dominic Greene. Dates, locations, and any Quantum names were highlighted; White’s own had a penned circle, while Q had written ‘DECEASED: Jan. 2007’ after Dominic Greene’s. The next item was a printed map of Europe and parts of southern Asia,smaller sheets of paper taped together to create a larger image with red dots scattered about the continents and small handwritten dates next to each dot. At first, Bond was confused, but then realized that the first one started in Italy, with _December 2006_ —when he first located and arrested White. The map, he noticed, also had tiny pinpricks in the edges; Q had hung it up somewhere at some point. The seventh sheet, underneath the map, had a list of dates and locations that corresponded with the map— _Q was tracking White and following his trail_.

The eighth, ninth, and tenth sheets had emails between Q and White. Bond felt the corner of his mouth twitch as he read Q’s story— _he really needs to work on his cover stories_ —and White’s reply and invitation to join him in person, Q’s numerous and not-so-subtle attempts to maintain White’s interest yet refuse him at the same time to meet in person. White finally delivered the ultimatum— _If you truly wish to continue this discussion, I insist we meet in person at the Bregenz Open Air Theatre, where I will be enjoying a performance on this date, or I shall unfortunately have to terminate all contact between the two of us_ —and Q reluctantly caved; Bond could see through the stiff formality of Q’s reply that the Quartermaster conceded defeat.

He checked the date of the last email: four days before Q presented the location of Quantum’s Jesper White to M.

_Q, what the fuck were you getting yourself into? Why didn’t you ask me to help?_

“James.”

He turned to face Eve, but stopped when she abruptly gestured to the bed. Bond felt his heart nearly stop when he saw a lump under the duvet, and knew that logically, only one person would still have the key to the room. Slowly inhaling to remain calm, Bond approached the bed, Eve moving aside with her gun at her side, and then he sat down on the edge, gingerly leaning forward to get a better look at the head and the semi-familiar mop of hair on the pillow.

_Q._

He glanced at Eve, who raised an eyebrow. He nodded once towards the door, and she inclined her head once before turning to leave. Then Bond, careful to keep his voice steady, leaned back over Q’s small, balled up form, and whispered, “For the record, I know you’re awake because I shot the door, and I trained you over the years to wake up to gunshots. Mind telling me what the _fuck_ just happened?”

A sigh, and the ball tightened around itself. “White is dead. You don’t have to worry about him coming after you anymore,” came the curt reply in the heartbreakingly familiar voice.

“Why were you so fascinated with White?” Bond asked quietly, remaining still as Q finally turned over, gazing blearily at him. “As in, to the point where you tracked him down and met with him in public?” he clarified, holding careful eye contact with Q. The familiar eyes were free of any deception, instead holding only a quiet sadness that Bond hated seeing on him.

Silence. Then: “Because of you. Quantum was always the one group you feared would come after you—I don’t think you notice anymore, but you tend to hover especially close to me around the time of our wedding anniversary, as well as the anniversary of Vesper’s death,” Q said finally, voice rough and scratchy as he twisted himself around to sit up next to Bond, body wonderfully warm and _alive_ against Bond’s side as the duvet and sheets pooled around his side. “I thought the reason you never went after them was because they hadn’t provoked you in years. But then I realized it could have been because you didn’t even know where they were. So I thought, what if I could follow the easy-to-hide digital trail, and root them out that way? Quietly take care of them from a distance? Remove whatever axe they held over your head?” A sigh, and Q sagged slightly against Bond before Bond felt him twist again slightly, undoubtedly noticing the stack of papers in Bond’s hands “It was going well, even with that little hiccup of White wanting to meet in person. Then I found out in their database that White was training Westbrook to kill you because _he_ felt threatened by you.”

“What did you do then?” Bond asked, reaching over to tilt Q’s head towards him, to better read his facial expressions.

Q’s face twitched, and Bond had to repress the urge to lean over and kiss the stress lines away. “I agreed to meet White in person, get close enough to learn more about Westbrook, and better prepare you in case I failed to kill White,” he said, never looking away from Bond.

“What changed your mind?”

“R saw me working on the database, and then told M. I had to then present it as a mission, in order to keep the level of my involvement discreet. I would have been placed on probation if not removed altogether, due to being emotionally compromised in the form of favoring one agent above all others,” Q said, traces of bitterness audible in his tone. “You were the favored candidate for the mission because of your previous experience with Quantum.”

“Why didn’t you tell me then?” Bond asked quietly, loosening his grip slightly.

“Because I was putting your safety before that of England, which you would have hated,” Q said bluntly, tilting his chin up as he stared at Bond. A nervous swallow, and then he looked away. “I did all the searching in my own time, I would have been able to finish it if I hadn’t fucked up that one moment when R saw me,” he said, shoulders sagging as he edged away from Bond as though to remove all physical contact. “When Westbrook finally went after you, I tried to warn you, and then at least distract Westbrook so you could kill him,” he finally admitted.

Bond quietly processed everything. “You would have taken Quantum just so I could breathe easier?” he asked after a moment, very well aware of the guilt clawing in his gut now. “And you couldn’t speak because you were always surrounded by Quantum— _damn_ it, Alex, you should have fucking said _something_ before starting this venture!” he said, standing up and tossing the folder aside, ignoring the papers that scattered around. “I was—” he stopped, the very thought of killing Q causing a sick twist in his gut. Instead, he bit back his temper and set the Walther aside, careful to switch the safety back on while Q could still see it. “At the very least, I should have been with you,” he said, turning around so that he could see Q. “I could have helped you, it would have been a quiet assassination—”

“I didn’t want you to worry!” Q snapped, stiffening in place in the middle of the bed. “The order to kill both informants was to help you leave the mission with a clear conscience so that you wouldn’t have to worry about whether I was lying to you or not!”

“Q, I trusted you, and whether you believe me or not, I still do,” Bond said, approaching the bed. “Just…don’t…fucking…do…this…again. Not without consulting me first, even if it’s to spare me the worry. I _want_ to worry, in this case. Promise me… _promise me,”_ he growled, never breaking eye contact with Q.

“I promise.” 

Bond searched his eyes for any hidden deception, but found none, instead finding the familiar warmth he’d grown accustomed to over the last few years. “Don’t fucking do it again,” he repeated before pulling Q into a tight embrace. “Last night was traumatic enough, I don’t need to go through it again,” he murmured into Q’s ear.

“Well, now you know what _I_ have to deal with every time you nearly come close to death on missions,” Q growled even as he buried his face into the crook of Bond’s neck, his heartbeat familiar and welcome against Bond’s chest as Bond gently lowered him back onto the bed, resting on top of him in easy comfort.

Bond couldn’t help but laugh.


End file.
